Uninvited
by finallywoken
Summary: It's been almost six years since Ron's death, but his sudden reappearance on Hermione's doorstep leads to the reinvestigation of what really happened on the night of his death and the rekindling of a romance that may have destroyed everything.
1. The Midnight Visitor

Chapter One

The Midnight Guest

She had spent all of her 25 years in London, and yet somehow the rain still surprised her. It hadn't been completely her error--the sky had tricked her, convinced her it was a lovely day outside and that there wouldn't be a drop on her pretty little head. But now it was pouring, and Hermione Granger was hustling out of the tube station as quickly as she could without slipping down the steps and killing herself. With one arm wrapped tightly around a large square box and the other balancing the weight of her purse with a brown leather bag, she planted her feet on the sidewalk with a heavy sigh. Luckily, her flat was only a fifteen-minute walk away, and when she arrived, she was so relieved that her load felt suddenly weightless. After a performance that included some impressive juggling, hackey-sack, and skillful tooth weightlifting, the door to her flat swung open heavily and she dropped her things onto the floor. 

She looked up at the clock; it was half-past eight and already it was pitch black outside. With a few flicks, the TV was on, the water in the sink was running, and a soft light flooded from the corner of the living room. She placed her coat on a rack behind the door and disappeared through a hallway to the left. A few minutes later, she emerged in a black t-shirt and a pair of gray sweats, her damp hair hanging loosely over her left shoulder. Standing in front of the sink, she placed a pot under the running water and watched as it filled up as she listened to the news. A box of bowtie pasta sat patiently on the counter next to the stove, and oh! "Congratulations to Harry Potter," the TV rang out in a shrilly, excited (yet obviously secretly disappointed) female voice. "He's just gotten married, oh Ginny Weasley must be the luckiest girl in the world!" Hermione stopped, the pot of water still in her hands, and looked on in time to see a clip from the wedding video. Two beaming smiles lit up the screen as the two newlyweds practically skipped down the aisle, and for a split second she saw her own beaming smile watch on with the rest of them. _Ah, so they've finally caught on_, she thought to herself with a wicked grin. _Took them long enough. _She turned back to the counter and placed the pot on the stove, still listening to the jealous newscaster drone on about the wedding. "You know, their families must be overjoyed. They've finally gotten to reunite, and for such a wonderful occasion. This wedding is something of a heaven-send, and I think it happened at just the right moment. It's the beginning of a new life, a good fresh start, after the hard times we've seen. And especially for Harry, getting to see his friends and family together again, I think--" 

Hermione flicked her fingers, and the woman was gone. Instead, she was replaced by a slightly overweight man speaking enthusiastically about his amazing, revolutionary six-burger indoor grill. The box of pasta rattled over the boiling water, each bow floating briefly before settling at the bottom, and Hermione sighed. _If only Harry's friends and family had all been there..._ she thought, tossing the box toward the trash can and fighting hard to ignore it as it hit the floor two feet away. After a few minutes, she carried the bowl of pasta and a small glass of wine to the sofa and settled down into it. She flicked back over to the news. _Surely they must be onto something else by now,_ she thought. "Christmas is two weeks away, and that means...time for present shopping! What the best, most sought-after gifts are and where you can find them, coming up shortly. But first..."

The fork stabbed lightly at the pasta, clinking against the bottom of the bowl, then lazily made its way towards Hermione's parted lips. Just as she bit down, her lips closing over the engraved silver, the shrilly voice returned, this time in a much darker tone. Hermione wondered what could possibly have happened now--after living through the past fourteen years in complete terror of anything and everything, it was hard to truly shock her any more. She picked up her glass of wine and swirled it around gently before touching it to her lips. She was about to place it back on the floor when a very fuzzy picture of what looked like a small orange creature appeared on the screen.

"This just in: it's been reported today that there has been a sighting of Ronald Weasley just outside of Avebury, just this morning."

And the wine shot straight out of her mouth. She couldn't lift her hand to wipe away the red trickling down her chin; she was frozen stiff. Her ears reached achingly toward the tv, as if they were reaching for the sounds of sustaining life, and she slowly rose to her feet, the bowl of pasta tumbling blindly out of her lap and onto the floor and her breath caught in her throat.

"None of this has been verified, and police are skeptical as to whether this claim holds any merit. The man who claims to have seen Ronald Weasley is currently in psychiatric care in a center just outside of London. Ronald Weasley has been missing for over five and a half years and was previously presumed dead. We'll update you as soon as we have further word on--"

There was a knock at the door, and Hermione nearly jumped through the ceiling. She felt her breath move through her and didn't recognize the sensation of air entering her lungs. She felt like she was drowning as she approached the door and placed her eye against the view hole. It was a hooded man, and with the darkness outside whe couldn't discern who it was. She felt her stomach drop somewhere into the floor and her hand quivered against the doorknob.

"Who is it?" she finally mustered up. There was no answer. She placed her eye desperately against the peephole again, straining as much as possible to identify the stranger. She opened her mouth, the words leaving her throat much easier this time.

"Who's there?"

"Hermione, please...open the door."

Her heart exploded beneath her ribcage. _No...it's impossible..._

Her hand fumbled with the lock, her fingers turning the handle as calmly as possible. Her eyes closed intuitively as she took a step back. The door swung open and rain fell at her feet. She opened her eyes and a sharp breath shuddered through her. A pair of hurt, painfully blue eyes seared into her and she stepped back once more.

"Ron?"


	2. Broken Man

Chapter Two

Broken Man

In one moment, Hermione felt the past six years crumble down at her feet with the rain as a teardrop sprang free from her eye and slipped down her cheek. Her heart felt as if it had stopped, locked in place against the back of her ribcage by cold, steel fingers. The breath that was caught in her throat was becoming a painful bead that kept growing larger by the second, a bead that refused to be swallowed, preventing her from speaking and only producing more of the salty solution that now flowed shamelessly down her face. The hard shell that had spread so effectively over her heart was now melting away in mere seconds as those eyes continued to stare into hers. A shivering hand reached out from beneath the long cloak that sheltered those blue eyes and slowly inched towards Hermione's face. As she looked down at the long fingers, she noticed their rough skin; looking closer, she could identify a long, thick, flesh-colored line running down his wrist and slivering off under his sleeve. The fingers stretched out gently towards a tear on her chin, and Hermione let out a staggered breath.

"No!" she shrieked, shattering the bead in her throat and jumping back just before the fingers could brush her skin. The hand retreated violently, The Cloak nearly flying off the doorstep. Hermione grabbed her face protectively, and she felt her chest heaving, her lungs finally pumping the air she thought she'd wanted but now, feeling the pain it caused the rest of her body, wished she had gone without. The Cloak looked up at her again, the hurt blue eyes now shimmering with tears, before it lowered its head, its hands retreating nervously beneath the shield of black cloth. She heard him breathing, saw the body under the cloak shuddering painfully, and she suddenly understood. 

"Ron?" she asked again. Her voice was now barely a whisper, the fear and anger she had just shown replaced by tenderness and timidity. The head beneath the hood looked up at her remorsefully. Hermione gasped. Before either of them knew what she was doing, she stepped forward, mindless of the pounding rain, and threw her arms around The Cloak's neck. Hard rain hit soft, dirty red hair as the black hood fell back and revealed the head of a man who had been dead for six years. 

Ten minutes later, Hermione and Ron were soaking wet, yet neither of them moved, their arms locked around each other so tightly as though they would never see each other again. Hermione refused to open her eyes, in fear that opening them would reveal a reality she didn't want to accept. She had dreamt about this moment--pushed it aside as best she could for six years, but there were moments when she couldn't fight it--and every time she would break into tears at the realization that it would never come true. As long as she held on, as long as she held on blindly, she would never wake up, never have to leave this moment.

"Hermione…" Ron started. Hermione jumped, startled, and stepped back a couple of inches. She glanced around suspiciously, suddenly aware of a situation that was much bigger than Ron and herself. Swallowing the lump in her throat and looking down, she took Ron's hand carefully.

"Ron, come inside, before anyone sees you," she whispered into his ear, pulling his hood over his head and glancing around once more before leading him up the slick stairs and through her front door.

~~*~~

A tall man of 6'5", Ron had never really fit comfortably on Hermione's couch, yet there he was again, his legs stretched out awkwardly under the glass coffee table, his arms laying strangely in his lap, his head of wet curls unsure of where to settle. It had been so long since he had last seen the inside of any residential building, let alone that of his fiancé's. His eyes roamed curiously over every strange object Hermione had acquired during his absence: the 22-inch television, the stainless steel refrigerator, the strange blender-type thing on the counter. Then he noticed things that looked vaguely familiar, and he realized they were things from his apartment—the small green toaster he'd found at a rummage sale that he'd never gotten to work properly; the Chudley Cannons cookie jar on top of the refrigerator (which lived there proudly despite its obvious displacement); the foreign-looking industrious metal trashcan Hermione had somehow convinced him was worth the £40 she had paid for it that now seemed to be watching him constantly. Ron shifted uncomfortably as the light-reflected eyes of the contraption followed his. Clearing his throat, he inched over toward the middle of the couch where the trashcan could no longer see him. Hermione turned around, a boiling teapot in one hand and green mug in the other, and eyed him curiously. Every glance at him was a strange reality check; nothing had sunk in yet and everything was buzzing around endlessly inside her head. Questions bloomed in her mind and it was all she could do to restrain herself from imposing upon Ron the greatest inquisition of all time. She walked calmly toward the couch, placing the green mug on the coffee table in front of Ron, and stood awkwardly, not sure of what to do with herself. She fidgeted unconsciously with her hands, her fingernails slipping underneath each other and picking at imaginary debris. Ron watched her cautiously, remaining still and silent. The green mug sweated as soft, white steam rose from its mouth. A clock on the wall grew louder and louder, its second-hand ticking incessantly until Hermione could take no more. She cleared her throat just as Ron lifted his arms, pulling his sleeves back toward his elbows. He reached his right arm forward, his fingers wrapping tightly around the cool handle of the mug, and Hermione's eyes grew large and afraid. A small gasp escaped her lips, and Ron looked down, realizing his mistake too late. His free hand jerked on the sleeve hastily and he lowered his head as he mug fell from his grip and clattered onto the table, its contents spreading across the glass and forming a steaming sea. Hermione remained frozen, her mouth still open in shock. Ron couldn't look up at her, as though the sight of her reaction would burn his eyes and blind him. Hermione felt a bit faint as she slipped down to her knees. 

"Ron," she said, barely audible, "show me your wrist."

He looked up at her, perfectly aware of what she had requested but completely hesitant to comply. He held his wrist protectively, his fingers playing with the fabric of his sleeve. Hermione looked at him, her eyes harboring such an intense pain that Ron had to give in. He slowly lowered his arm, reaching it out toward her, and she took it gingerly in her hands, her fingers nimbly lifting the sleeve and pulling it back. Her eyes followed a line on his hand, the same flesh-colored line she had seen earlier, and was shocked to find that it only got thicker and deeper as it traveled down to his elbow, where it came to an abrupt end. There were other smaller scars, scars that, despite their size had caused an incredible amount of pain. Tears filled Hermione's eyes as she ran her fingers over each one of them, and soon enough she found herself trembling uncontrollably. Ron tried to stop her, tried to console her, but she continued stubbornly, her brow furrowed in an effort to keep the tears from falling down her face. She reached for his other arm, and this time Ron was adamant about keeping it to himself. Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled it toward her, a tear rolling down her cheek, and Ron gave in. He shut his eyes fearfully as Hermione slid back his sleeve, and her shocked gasp came as no surprise. He kept his eyes closed as she silently stared at the dull black skull on the inside of his wrist. After a few seconds, Hermione closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his arm. She listened to his ragged breathing and suddenly felt an intense need to hold him close to her. He looked at her cautiously as she raised her head, and for a moment there was a very pregnant pause. 

"Ron, I need you to tell me what happened. Everything. For the past six years. Please," she said desperately. Ron sighed.

"Hermione, I don't—"

"**Please.**"

"Hermione," he said wearily, "I don't…I don't remember."


	3. Memory Lane

Chapter Three

Memory Lane

In the back of Hermione's closet there lay a series of shoeboxes, one on top of the other, a thin layer of dust settled nicely on each of them. In times of desperation, she would crawl to a little spot on the floor, set her handful of tissue on the floor next to her, and dive into 14 years of memories, satiating-or attempting to, anyway-the void within her, the need to turn back time and **feel** herself as a whole again. She would sit there for hours at a time, slowly making her way through the chronologically sorted boxes until either she fell asleep amongst the memories or temporarily healed herself. She never told anyone about them-not Harry or Ginny or anyone-because she felt it made her seem vulnerable and weak, and she didn't want her friends and family to know she had been unsuccessful at moving on and living her life fully. She was supposed to be strong. She was supposed to be resilient. She was supposed to be...okay.

But for the first time ever, Hermione found herself in the presence of someone more vulnerable than she, and so she crawled into the small space in her closet, pulling the rough, scarred hand gently next to her. When she saw that he was settled, she pulled out the first box, an apprehensive look in her eyes. Ron watched as her fingers slowly lifted off the cover and set it next to her. Watching him carefully, she placed the box in his hands, preparing herself for his reaction. He looked at her nervously, but soon began sifting through the objects, reading clippings from the Daily Prophet and letters exchanged between the three, and sometimes the four, of them. Hermione watched the expressions change on Ron's face; he seemed to be recognizing certain events, which pleased her greatly. After a while, he was ready for the next box, and over the next two hours she sat there with him as he relived his-his and Hermione's and Harry's and Ginny's lives. Hermione wanted so badly to speak to him, to talk about the events and voice the words that tickled her throat, but Ron had nothing to say and she felt the need to not disturb him before he was ready.

It wasn't until they reached the last box that Ron expressed any outward emotion. As he picked up the stack of clippings and began going through them, a tear welled up in his eye and slowly trickled down his cheek. Hermione was a bit taken aback, but she remained silent. She felt selfish wanting to talk until finally, after almost three hours of silence, Ron cleared his throat abruptly, making Hermione jump a bit.

"I...I can't believe I wasn't there for the wedding," he said remorsefully, his finger flicking the rough edge of the newspaper. Hermione looked at him painfully.

"You have no idea how hard it was for them to go through with it without you there. They almost didn't get married because of it, they were so, so troubled by it. It was...well, it was really hard for everyone, but it was a beautiful wedding, and...

She felt that if she carried on she would only make him feel worse, and so she let the words drift off into nothing. He picked up a small, blue velvet box in the corner and, as Hermione's breath caught in her throat, popped it open. Hermione hadn't opened that in over a year. She only stopped wearing it three years before, when she and Ginny got into a horrific row in which Ginny had screamed at the top of her lungs that Ron was not returning. Sometimes she thought if she opened it and wore it, it would somehow change things, heal her heart, make Ron come back, destroy the pain, and when the day came where she finally realized that was impossible, she stopped allowing herself the privilege to look at it. It put a spell on her, a spell under which she could no longer function. And so the box remained closed.

Until now. There she was, looking at it once again, but this time the spell was defunct. Because there Ron was, sitting right next to her. She looked over at him tearfully, her hands impossibly shaky. Ron, two fingers pinched together, carefully removed the small, glistening ring and examined it closely. Every flicker of light on the diamond caused more awe to stir inside him. He turned it around between his fingers a few times before turning to look at Hermione. By now, her face was streaked with salty tears, her eyes a deep pool of sorrow. Ron looked at her concernedly, brushing a tear from her chin. She glanced down at his hand and wondered why it felt so radiantly warm.

"Mione, what is it?" he asked, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it from her lips.

"Ron, I...I haven't looked at that ring in ages, and all of a sudden here you are-here you are! You, Ron, have been missing for six years and suddenly you are sitting here in my closet looking through boxes, shoeboxes filled with memories, things I put in here to look at because sometimes, _sometimes_ I go crazy thinking about you and realizing I don't have you with me any more and wonder how it is I live my life! Because I loved you Ron, I loved you more than life itself, you meant more to me than everything in the world, and having to live without you for six years was the hardest thing anyone should ever have to go through...yet here you are, holding my engagement ring, the ring you gave me seven years ago, _seven years ago_, and I just...I don't know what to do with myself right now, everything I thought was real is crashing down around me because here you are...here you are and I-I just...oh," she said, and she collapsed onto Ron in a wave of sobs. Ron wrapped his arms around her tightly, holding him close to her, his face wet with tears as well. They rocked softly, back and forth, to a silent rhythm only they felt, and he stroked her soft, damp head gently. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw a box hidden away in the corner and gasped. _I forgot all about that box..._

Ron followed her eyes and, seeing the box, pulled it from under its cover. Hermione stopped him, looking at him pleadingly as if begging him to stop. Ron saw the panic in her eyes and ignored it. He pulled the box into his lap, dusted off the top, and opened it. Inside were more clippings-_more clippings? Merlin, how much of her life has she wasted with scissors in her hands cutting up newspapers?-_but as he began to read them, he felt his heart drop. _So this is it. This is how I died. This is where they took me._ Hermione couldn't stand to look in the box, so she turned her head and pulled her legs to her chest protectively. Ron shuffled through a few of the papers until he found one with a picture on the cover, and as he looked at it closely, he felt cold and hollow. There, in front of his eyes, was Ginny, being reunited with Harry and collapsing into him in a fit of tears, Harry's robes diminished into nothing more than mere scraps, his body covered in blood and sweat and tears. Off to the side was Hermione, her head in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably, and standing around them were members of the Ministry, Aurors, Professors, his family, and people he knew from his childhood, all there. But where was he? And what was this? He read the caption below:

**The aftermath of the terrible Death Eater attack in Surrey.**

And suddenly, he knew.

"Hermione, this is when...this was when they took me.

Her bundled legs slid to the floor silently. She turned around sharply and trembled, "Took you? Ron...took you where?


	4. Beautiful Disaster

All right, here's chapter four for all of you. I'm glad you like the story so far, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! It's a bit longer than usual, but there was no way I could split this in two, it's too...well, you'll see. ;) Anyway, enjoy!

Lauren

Chapter Four

Beautiful Disaster

Soft, brown curls peeked around a wooden door. It was windy and warm outside, the kind of weather that only occurred in London once every blue moon. Chocolate eyes carefully surveyed the setting in front of them and were very pleased indeed. Except for the centerpiece on table number three: it hadn't been centered very well. Perhaps Harry hadn't noticed. Perhaps he had been talking to Ron or Ginny and had been distracted. Perhaps she would just have to go correct it herself. She snuck outside, her bare feet embracing the cool dampness of the grass as she crept over to the table in question and gently slid the red vase into a center position, smiling happily and contentedly. Suddenly, she felt a pair of rough hands slip around her waist, and the grin on her face grew impossibly wider. Warm lips pressed against her cheek and then pressed softly against her ear in a whisper.

"Hermione, you're completely impossible to please. Harry worked all morning setting this up for us out of the goodness of his heart and here you are, being ungrateful and downright impossible. It's ridiculous, how could you?"

Hermione spun around, hitting his arm playfully and chuckling. Blue eyes glistened down at her teasingly as she tried to free herself from his grasp. It was, of course, to no avail.

"Ron, you know very well how grateful I am for Harry's help, it's just--you know me, I couldn't help it! It was just mocking me, taunting me ruthlessly, and I had to fix it or else it would have driven me absolutely insane!" she proclaimed, her arms flailing enthusiastically. Ron pulled her into a sweet embrace, tightening his grip around her waist. She raised her arms, wrapping them around his neck and pulling him even closer to her. She felt a small tingle up her spine--amazing, she thought, how after all these years the tingle was still so strong--when suddenly a strangled noise emerged from somewhere behind Ron. Hermione pulled back and peered over Ron's shoulder.

"Oh Merlin, get a room!" cried fiery red hair and fantastically magnificent freckles. Small hands shielded mock-fearful caramel eyes, and forth came a convincingly disturbed groan. Hermione blushed as Ron walked toward the woman, pulling her hands from her face and tickling her mercilessly until she couldn't take any more. Even after all these years, he knew the one spot that killed her every time, and there was nothing she could do about it but surrender. A pair of alarmed green eyes peeped into the garden and, falling upon the three friends, became warm and friendly. Tired but excited legs walked through a vine-covered gate to the garden, and as they came to a stop, two lean arms reached out, pulled out a chair from table number two (with Hermione watching out of the corner of her eye), and folded as the rest of his body lowered comfortably into the chair. Hermione giggled as she pulled Ron from his attack, reaching out a hand to help the poor girl up off the ground. The caramel eyes glared playfully at the blue ones, and then, suddenly, freckles met in a warm embrace.

"Oh, Ron...I'm so happy for you, for both of you, I can't even begin to tell you..."

"Ginny, don't tell me you're going to cry again, last time was enough, **more** than enough, you nearly scared me to death, I thought you were going to cry yourself dry."

Ginny pulled back, attempting to hide the rogue tear building up in her eye. Ron smiled at her kindly and kissed her on the forehead. Ginny grinned weakly and looked into the startlingly green eyes across from her.

"Harry, where did you come from? You scared me," she said, all signs of crying gone and replaced with girlish laughter. Harry stood up, his legs tired from all the walking around and setting up the garden he'd only finished a half hour before.

"The real question is, where did you come from? I've been looking for you all morning; you said you'd help me with all of this! I should have known though, all you Weasleys are the same! You just wriggle your way out of everything, don't you?" he said, laughing as Ginny crossed her arms defensively.

"Hey, watch it! You might want to be a bit careful with your words there, Potter, or they may get you in serious trouble." She crossed over to him, her feet also bare, her toes squishing the grass between then with every step she took, and she hugged him tentatively. Sensing her awkwardness, Harry pulled her closer to him and took in the scent of her hair. Boy, if he ever told Ron how much he loved that girl, he probably would have hexed him into the next century.

It wasn't long before the guests began to arrive. Hermione kept bustling around like a house elf, worriedly shifting chairs around and checking that the food was still intact in the kitchen (Ron had made a bad habit of sneaking in there every five minutes and sneaking tastes of everything). Ron, meanwhile, was coordinating food-stealing trips; he would wait until Hermione left the kitchen and turned the corner before he dashed in and swiped something else, making sure to cover up what he could before he dashed back out. When he wasn't being a nuisance and eating everything, he was out toward the front of the gardens, checking that the guests were all getting around all right and making sure the floating hors-d'oeuvre trays didn't crash into anyone. Unfortunately, just as he had okayed the situation and decided to head back inside, he heard a shrill shriek and the painful sound of glass shattering: Lavender had fallen into a tray of champagne, sending it and herself tumbling to the ground. He stifled a chuckle as he made his way over to assist her. She smiled up at him embarrassedly as he lowered his hand to her.

"Oh Ron, I feel ridiculous, I just...for a moment, I completely forgot where I was, and suddenly I was falling backward, and...well, I don't really remember what happened before that." She brushed herself off gingerly, her cheeks reddening at her last words. During the battles against Voldemort, Lavender had been so severely injured that at one point, she went into shock and developed a moderate case of epilepsy, and while nearly everyone learned to accept and expect her random seizures, Lavender was quite disturbed and upset by them and the loss of control over her life they caused her. Even though her medication helped her out quite a bit, sometimes, especially in times of great excitement, one was able to sneak by her.

"Lavender, it's fine, I'll just go charm up another tray. Come with me, we'll find Hermione and she can help you get straightened up a bit, all right?"

Harry was making the circuit with all the guests, saying hello to people from Hogwarts, friends and peers and teachers and their families. He was surprised how many people had shown up: the event was planned very last minute (neither Hermione or Ron thought it smart to have an engagement party so soon after the war, but in the end they decided it would be good for everyone to have something to celebrate) and the weather had been nothing short of terrible. However, somehow, it all came together quite nicely, Harry thought to himself. Quite nicely indeed. He was just taking a little walk around a pond a little ways from the garden when he felt a small tug on his sleeve, causing him to spin around rather roughly. When he saw who it was, however, he was immediately ashamed and lowered his head apologetically.

"No, it's my fault, I'm sorry," Ginny said, her breathing ragged from the shock. "I should have been more...I shouldn't have snuck up on you like that, especially when...Harry, I'm so sorry," she finished, frustrated and stumbling over her words. Harry smiled at her kindly, easing her mind a little.

"It's okay, it's...let's not think about it," he said. He turned and stood next to her, leading her forward in a walk around the pond. He wondered what she was thinking about, because clearly--from the way she approached him so--she had something on her mind. But he didn't press her; the silence was comfortable and there was no rush. Finally, Ginny looked up at him concernedly.

"It's just that, now that they're engaged, they're going to be awfully busy for the next few months--and understandably, of course, because planning a wedding takes a lot of work and time and patience, and...well. And after the wedding, they'll be in their own little lovely world, with just each other, and that's the way it's supposed to be when you're in love, which is fabulous, but...it'll just be you and me, Harry. What are we gonna do? The attacks are dying down, Death Eaters are being captured and persecuted, and even though that's great news, it...well, it leaves little to occupy our otherwise eventless lives. So now what? I'm not used to life without any sort of drama going on. I won't know what to do with myself." She took a deep breath and sighed softly. "But I digress. Ron and Hermione are happy, and I'm happy for them, but...it won't really ever be the same again, will it?" she asked rhetorically. Harry put his arm around her shoulder consolingly, and, acting through natural reflex, she rested her head on his shoulder. Harry found this show of affection a bit startling, but soon realized he didn't mind it much. In fact, he didn't mind it much at all.

"Ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards, and all the rest of you crazy creatures, I want to thank you for joining us today," came a loud, mischievous voice. Everyone was seated at the round tables in the gardens, and Ron stood in front of them, Hermione seated to his right, at a large table in front. Of course, at this point, Hermione was throwing him an angry glance, but he didn't seem to notice, and those who did gave a hearty chuckle. "Hermione and I were unsure about planning this--it hardly seemed like an appropriate moment in time for something so, well, celebratory and festive--but then we realized that an event like this is exactly what we all need. Each and every one of us present here today has suffered, suffered greatly, and persevered through unimaginable pain. Each of us has lost people important to us, people we'd never imagined having to live without. Yet here was are today, somehow managing to make it day by day in a world we never thought we'd ever have to live in. And it's because of that that we decided we needed to have this. It's hard thinking about happiness when all we've experienced for the past six years is terror and fear. But we all need to be happy, if only for this short moment, because it's what makes live bearable. We're all here today to be happy. To know that joy still exists. Hermione and I just want to help bring it out of all of you a little bit."

Looking around, he realized he had the entire congregation in tears, which was practically the opposite of the effect he was going for. Panicking, he looked at Hermione for help. She stood up, took Ron's hand, and smiled.

"And, if nothing else, there's tons of fantastic food, which is always a mood-lifter. Just ask Ron!"

And suddenly, everyone was in great fits of laughter. Ron looked down at his fiancee gratefully and gave her a soft peck on her forehead.

"You're amazing," he said, smiling happily.

"I try," she replied, smiling back at him and squeezing his hand gently.

"And now, about that food," Ron said, turning back to the audience. Hermione rolled her eyes, causing another chuckle from the crowd. "Everyone should eat! Merlin knows I want to," Ron said, looking at Hermione with an impish grin. Harry, who was seated on Ron's left, threw a look behind the happy couple to Ginny, on Hermione's right, grateful she happened to catch it. They both smiled, happy for the couple but still holding their earlier conversation in the front of their minds. What _would_ happen to them?

"Ron, I have to say I'm so glad you decided to have this engagement party," said a young woman in a pale yellow dress. Her eyes were wet with tears, but there was an exuberant smile on her face that spoke volumes of gratitude. Ron watched her as she carefully dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. "Everything you said earlier was right, we all needed this, and though some may not admit it, they all know it and are grateful to you for this. So thank you, so much. And I am so happy for you and Hermione, I always knew you two would be together and I'm glad to see it first-hand--it's obvious how happy you make each other, and that is quite a blessing."

"Wow, Parvati, that's really kind of you, thank you. I'm just...glad you feel that way. I'm glad it means so much to everyone, because it means a lot to me for everyone to be happy again, and it's...well, you understand. It's just good to start over again, start living life normally again, or as normally as possible. We at the Ministry are more than elated about our success in finally putting an end to the Death Eater attacks--it's been a good two years since they started, right after the defeat of Vold-sorry, You-Know-Who," he said, noticing her flinch slightly. "It's difficult imagining life without all of this horror, you know? It's just...it's going to take time."

Parvati smiled at him weakly, wrapping her arms around him gingerly and hugging him thankfully. Ron hugged back, patting her comfortingly. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear.

"Harry, thank you so much for doing all of this, I appreciate it incredibly, you did such a wonderful job," Hermione said, hugging him tightly. Harry chuckled, recalling to mind the sight of her rearranging the drinks on the floating trays a few hours before.

"You're welcome, Herm, you're welcome. And congratulations. I feel like even though I've said it millions of times already, I should say it again. This is, after all, a party thrown for the sole purpose of congratulating you." Hermione gave him a sarcastic look and kissed him on the cheek.

"You mean so much to me, to both of us, to **all** of us," she said, feeling suddenly emotional for the tenth time that evening. "Really, I don't know what I'd ever do without you."

"Hey, isn't that the same line you feed me?!?" Ron exclaimed in shock, appearing from behind Hermione with a look of mock surprise on his face. Hermione turned to him and wrapped her arms around him, turning the surprise on his face into a tender smile. Harry was about to tease them horribly for being so affectionate in public when suddenly he heard a horrible scream.

"What the--" Ron cried. He and Hermione spun around, terrified.

And down came swooshing cloaks of black with hoods of darkness. The Death Eaters had come for the celebration.


	5. Lost Souls

Hi all, here's the next chapter for you. Thanks for waiting so long, I've been having a crazy summer getting ready for college and suchÉanyway, it's a little violent, but nothing you haven't already seen in the HP books. Enjoy!

Chapter Five

Lost Souls

Something was wrong. Ron jerked his head up in a panic. "Hermione..." he whispered, and the sound of his own voice surprised him. It pained him to speak; he attempted to swallow, to clear his throat, and he grimaced as he felt the tension stab at him like a dagger. His heart pounded inside his chest, threatening to burst free and jump across the room. A sharp pain began at the back of his head and jerked its way down his body; his legs twitched beneath him as if attached to strings and being controlled by a crazed ventriloquist. As he opened his eyes, they stung painfully, and as he went to cover them with his hand he felt cold metal restraint tug him back. He growled, the pain in his throat overtaken by the pain in his eyes, and after a moment of squinting his eyes closed he attempted to open them once more. Complete darkness enveloped him. Patting his hand against the wall, he felt cold, damp stone, and it became painfully clear he was a captive in a stone cell. He wondered briefly if his wand was still in his pocket before he realized that that was highly unlikely, and even if it were, what use would it be to him? He wouldn't be able to reach it to save his life. He chuckled appreciatively at the irony in that thought, and as hollow laughter filled the room and bounced off the walls he felt a painful jolt shoot through his body, causing his head to jerk and his hands to tremble. Becoming more and more adamant to learn his exact location, he strained his eyes and scanned the room. Around him, he could somewhat make out the shadows of at least three other figures. Curious, he strained his eyes even further, and just as he tried to identify one to his left, he felt a searing sting that made him curl up into a ball.

And then, suddenly, a vision flew through his mind. He could see her face, writhed up in terror. Hermione was screaming, looking directly at him and screaming...

He felt himself shaking. His head felt heavy, his entire body was weighing down upon him like a boulder, and suddenly it became difficult to stay awake. Another vision passed through his head--Harry flung himself in front Ginny just as a Death Eater had approached her--she fell to the ground in a tumble as Harry struggled to stand--he could hear terrible screams--Hermione came out of nowhere and knocked the Death Eater to the ground in a flash of red light...

"Well, having a bit of a nightmare, I see?"

Ron could feel his body convulsing in pain, his legs jerking beneath him uncontrollably. His mouth was wide open, and it took him a moment to realize that the terrible screaming was emerging from himself. His breathing was ragged. At the recognition of the cold, harsh voice standing above him, he turned over, panting, lifting his head up to look him in the eye.

"Where am I?" he demanded, trying his best to ignore the sharp jab in his throat. "Where are the others--what have you done with them?"

It was then that he heard the presence of another person in the room. From somewhere to his right, a small cough had emerged. Ron jerked his head and felt his heart sink as he noticed Neville curled up in a ball on the floor. He wondered why he hadn't noticed him before, but his thought was interrupted by something else, something much more pressing...

Ron had been Stunned--he felt himself fall to the floor--Dean had tumbled down next to him to see if he was all right--Neville was yelling from somewhere behind him, yelling as he had never heard anyone yell before--"YOU WILL NOT TAKE THESE PEOPLE, YOU WILL NOT TAKE THEM, I WILL NOT LET YOU--"--Ron had rolled over in time to see Neville take out three Death Eaters on his own...down to one, Neville fell backward onto a table as a stream of purple emitted from his wand...

"NOOOOOOOO!!!!"

He jerked himself up, hitting his head against the wall as he did, and an explosion of pain burst through his body. His breath caught in his throat painfully and he couldn't free it. The cold, mirthless voice above him was chuckling softly.

"Ah, the aftermath of such a brutal attack. You shouldn't worry, the effects won't last long. It's too bad we didn't torture you longer, this is actually quite amusing to watch..."

"You leave him alone," came a trembling voice to the right. Neville had opened his eyes and was now gingerly attempting to sit up, though he seemed to be having difficulty persuading his left leg to move. The voice above now laughed heartily, causing Ron to jump.

"You want me to leave him alone, do you? And what, pray tell, will happen to me if I decide I don't want to?"

Ron glanced at Neville, realizing the cold voice had a point. It wasn't exactly as though they had an army waiting for their cue just outside the door. Neville remained silent, glaring at the Death Eater with cold defiance in his eyes. Just as another voice--now somewhere off to the left--began to reveal itself, Ron heard another scream in the back of his mind. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as Parvati ran for her life, hiding behind a tree--jets of blue shot from her wand and Death Eaters fell over each other in a heap--one came from the other side and laughed mercilessly--Parvati shrieked as a flash of green shot past--she crumpled to the ground, her eyes wide with shock--Ron felt a surge of anger rush through him as he ran toward her lifeless body...

"Hmm, perhaps it won't wear off as quickly as I thought, eh?" spoke the cold voice. "Interesting...well, goodie for me. Unfortunately, I must depart for a short while, but don't worry, I'll be back..."

Though Ron could not hear them, he felt the soft footsteps of the cold voice as they drifted toward an exit some twenty feet away. Ron felt his head lull forward into his chest. As hard as he tried, he could not make himself remember the events that had landed him in this cell; he could only piece them together from the flashbacks-as unfortunately painful as they were-and see where that got him. As he began recalling the flashbacks in his mind, he was struck with a realization--wherever he was, Harry was not with him. Had he been, he obviously would have spoken up by now, if not on his own accord, then as a reaction of Ron's screams. He would have, wouldn't he? Or maybe he too was crumpled in a ball along the wall, so severely beaten that he found it unbearable to force words to emerge from his lips. Ron scrunched up his face again, this time in a great effort to search the room for any sign of The Boy Who Lived, when a voice spoke--the same that had revealed itself just before Ron's last flashback--and startled him out of his attempt.

"He's not here," came a soft, quiet voice to Ron's left. Ron jerked his head in surprise, at both the voice's sudden presence and his apparent insight as to his query. Searching in the direction of the voice, his eyes twittering madly in the darkness and failing to settle on something concrete, Ron exclaimed frantically.

"What do you mean, he's not here? Where is he? What did they do to him?"

"He-he's the only one the Death Eaters couldn't capture. He...he was too strong for them. They just couldn't take him."

And suddenly a face emerged from shadow and became somewhat visible. As soon as Ron recognized his face, he saw him flash before his eyes--this time, a wand in his hand, determination screwed into his face like a light bulb, his mouth wide open in a brave panic--"Lavender, move!"--a girl, pushed aside and a boy, pressing forward--"Seamus, no! Please, stop"--a wand flying through the air, a grunt, two grunts, and the descent of Seamus as two Death Eaters tackled him to the ground...

Just as Ron opened his mouth to reply, the door to the cell opened with a loud clank. Several heads jerked to view who was entering. Four hooded men swooped forward, one heading in each direction, the sound of soft laughter emanating from each of them. As each drew out their wands, soft flashes of light flew toward them and the cold metal dropped from the captives' wrists. With rough tugs and shoves, they were pulled from the floor and forced into standing position. Each of them in turn shut their eyes as they were dragged toward the exit--they had been in darkness for so long that their poor eyes were shocked ruthlessly by the impeding light coming from above. Ron focused on his feet; he could feel every stone under his shoes as though he weren't wearing any. The walk down the hall seemed to last an eternity, made even longer by the impossible silence surrounding him. When he finally opened his eyes, he felt himself being shoved against a wall; looking around, he was finally able to see who had been in captivity with him. Neville stood next to him, looking nowhere but his feet; to Nevile's right stood Seamus, nervously fingering the hem of his torn sleeve as though he missed its presence greatly. Past Seamus stood Lavender, her head hanging drowsily in the middle of her chest, her lip trembling and her hands twitching; Ron observed her nervously and hoped against all hope that she would be strong enough to not succumb to another seizure. To her right stood Dean, his left eye puffed up in a bloody bruise and a stream of blood trickling gently from his left nostril; and further past him stood...Fred? He looked almost unrecognizable, the left side of his face mangled so badly with cuts and bruises that Ron wondered how he appeared so calm. Though there were at least five others past the quiet redhead, he had become so distracted by the appearance of his brother's face that he had completely forgotten about observing the others.

"Fred," he whispered, to no avail. Just as he opened his mouth to try again, he felt a cold arm grip him above the elbow and pull him from the wall. Before he could register what was happening, he felt himself become swallowed by darkness once more and the harsh lock of a door behind them. As he was thrown to the floor of a smaller, danker cell that smelled oddly like cabbage, the cold voice he had heard earlier filled the room.

"Well, well well, Weasley, we meet again...

Ron's head snapped up in an inexplicable rage that suddenly connected something within him he hadn't been able to recognize before. As he stared into the dark hood of the cold voice, it fell back to reveal a stark, pale face with a grin of pure malice and draped in a sheet of sleek blond hair.

"Don't worry, we're going to have a lot of fun. Now, be a good weasel and stick out your left arm for me, will you?

Ron bared his teeth ruthlessly and a wry smile played on his lips.

"Like I'm really going to play along with your little game. You seem to have forgotten who I am, Malfoy. Or have you always underestimated me?"

Malfoy's grin turned sour and in a fell swoop he was upon Ron, grasping his right arm and yanking it forward with great force as Ron's face contorted in pain.

"You think you can jerk me around, Weasley? Think again. You're defenseless against me, and there is nothing you can do about it! Let me show you just how much I'm going to enjoy this..."

Ron stared at him boldly, harboring a secret fear he refused to reveal. It was true; he was powerless against Malfoy and there was nothing to be done about it but pray he would die quickly. Malfoy pulled his wand from his pocket and pressed it lightly against Ron's wrist, looking at Ron with an expression of mock thoughtfulness.

"Hmm...what shall I do? Ohh, hmm, yes. Now, Weasley, try not to cry, I know how hard it is for you to control your emotions..."

With a cruel smirk, he slowly dragged the wand along the length of Ron's arm, while yellow sparks flew softly from each side. Ron's head fell forward in a pain he had never known before. He felt as though his arm was being slowly ripped in half, and then as though his entire body were burning from the inside out. Without any realization of opening his mouth and pressing his vocal chords, he heard incredible screams fill the room as though they came from someone else. When Malfoy reached his elbow, he stopped, and by the time Ron could finally open his eyes, his cheeks were sodden with tears. Malfoy let out a small snort and took a step back.

"Look, look what I've done to you...you wouldn't think it possible, yet here it is...my my, that looks painful..."

Ron looked reluctantly at his arm and immediately felt horrible sickness wash over him and sink uncomfortably into the pit of his stomach. The tip of Malfoy's wand had cut so deeply into his arm that it looked as though he had been stabbed with it. Ron felt faint as the blood gushed down his arm--while the pain had been permissible, the sight of blood was had been too much for him. As his eyes grew hazy, he heard shrill laughter from above; his body was falling, sinking into the floor, and just before his eyes shut he caught one last glimpse at Malfoy as he stood over him, and he felt vaguely the sensation of something pulling on his left arm and a cool dripping on his left wrist. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, slowly, slowly...

"Ah, and another for the count. Wonderful...well, Weasley, sweet dreams..."


	6. Desolate Surrender

Chapter Six

Ron had no idea what was happening or where he was, but he did know that for some reason, his body refused to move. His head swam in a thick mixture of pain and confusion, his heart pumping wildly and his eyes squinting as tightly as possible while still allowing him to see his surroundings. His arms seemed glued to the floor beneath him, and when he finally looked at them he was able to see why: his right arm, resting close to his chest, was trickling blood in every direction which was, in turn, mixing with the sweat and tears and was beginning to dry on the ground, creating a sticky substance that, for Ron's current state of weakness, was too thick to defeat. The blood, at this point, he was able to handle. When he caught a glimpse of his left wrist, however, he nearly fainted—the sight of the Dark Mark anywhere in close proximity to his person, let alone burned irrevocably into his skin, was complete and utter devastation.

He let out a soft moan as he attempted to shift his legs. Finally, after several tries—and several painful grunts—he was able to persuade himself to believe that the pain was not real, that he was simply imagining it, and that soon enough he would be done with this, this **game**, and he would be home with Hermione and Harry and his sister and all of this would fade into a horrible nightmare. The more he kept telling himself this, the more it became true. He was fine, he was fine, he was fine…

The cold sound of metal reverberated throughout the room as the harsh, swift footsteps Ron was getting so used to swept toward him.

"Ah, you've risen, I see. Very good, very good. Now, if you'll be so kind as to follow me, we have places to be…"

Malfoy threw him his signature smile, full of pomposity and malice and all things Malfoy. Ron felt his face contort into disgust without him even trying, but Malfoy just laughed appreciatively.

"Ron Weasley, I never thought there was any way to make you look more unattractive, but you just showed me how very wrong I was. Now, either you can get yourself up, or I can have someone twice your size do it for you. And trust me, the latter is not going to be very pleasant, although…now that I think about it, I don't exactly have your comfort in mind, do I?" He laughed another mirthless laugh and took two steps toward the door behind him, still facing Ron and watching him imperiously.

Ron, realizing there was no way to avoid the current situation, decided it would be in his best interest to remove himself from the floor on his own. _It's just a game, it's just a game…soon…soon…_he told himself, and with a heavy heave he kept his pain to himself—to prevent any kind of satisfaction from displaying itself on Draco's smarmy face—and lifted his tired body into a standing position. Malfoy snapped his fingers and two men twice Ron's size entered the room and took to each side of Ron, taking his arms and leading him out of the room. Ron felt his feet drag against the cold stone and it suddenly hit him that he was leaving the safety of his cell—the safety? He contemplated this as he realized he had left safety a long time back. He tried not to feel fear as his body weightlessly glided down a dark, torch-lit hallway that seemed endless. The only thing Ron could focus on was the distant tap of Malfoy's footsteps, which were leading ten feet ahead. With every step Ron felt as though the walls would consume him, swallow him whole, and in those moments of desperation he wished they would.

Just as soon as the thought had crossed his mind, all light disappeared into nothingness and Ron reconsidered his wish as a cold, inescapable chill overtook him and his feet became the only thing to guide him. He remembered the large men at his sides and secretly wondered if they too were ever weary of the darkness. Ron began to feel the darkness was carrying on too long and his stomach grew uneasy; soon enough, however, he was tossed into what seemed like yet another cell, and the two men stepped back as Malfoy, who had disappeared briefly, stood in front of him, wand at the ready. A dim light seeped into the room from a small iron-barred window about ten feet above Malfoy's head, casting him in a rather wicked shadow. With a flick, a chair appeared as though out of thin air and Malfoy motioned for him to sit. Ron looked at him defiantly.

"Weasley, for all the pain you've already endured, I would think that by now you'd be a little more cooperative. However, if that's how you're going to be, then you know I won't hesitate to play this little game with you. It seems highly unlike you to not realize that I am most certainly going to win," he said with a smirk, "but then again, you always have been a bit foolishly defiant—something you've always thought as courageous, I suppose, but that too is explained by your sheer idiocy. So, Weasley, you want to butt heads with me, that's absolutely fine. Would you like another one of those on your left arm?" he asked slickly, looking pointedly at the still open wound on his right arm. Ron swallowed. He wanted to fight Draco, wanted to destroy him so badly that he could feel the hatred rising quickly in his bones. But he knew that the way out of here—if there was one—was not present at this particular moment. For one, he had no wand. There were the two large men outside the door. Also, he couldn't quite move his body on his own accord. His only options were incredible pain, pain he wasn't sure he could survive, or…surrender.

Ron's heart sank into his belly as he slowly lowered himself onto the chair in front of him, and at the sound of Malfoy's satisfied sigh he immediately regretted it. One thing he hated most was giving Malfoy any reason to be satisfied. But, as he had just decided, Ron had no other choice. He sat furiously, Malfoy strutting around the chair, surveying him. Ron felt his chest rise and fall and which each breath he felt closer and closer to succumbing to the weakness that so badly wished to take over his poor body. Finally, just as Ron's eyes closed softly, welcoming sleep, Malfoy stopped directly to his left and clapped his hands.

"Gentlemen, would you please bring in the others?"

Ron's head snapped up as the now familiar clank on cold steel slammed against the wall some thirty feet away. As his eyes popped open, his ears, straining tightly, could hear the soft pattering of feet from somewhere in front of him, and slowly they became a series of sunken, weathered faces as they entered the sullen light of the cell.

Ron's breathing became increasingly heavy as he took in all of the faces; more chairs appeared as each one entered and filed themselves next to Ron's, and as a stern look took on Malfoy's face, each chair became occupied one by one, each head lowering solemnly as its body sank downward into a pit of despair.

After a few minutes, all of the prisoners were seated, dishearteningly so, their heads sinking further and further into their slowly rising chests with every passing minute. Though Ron had been trying to avoid it as long as he could, he couldn't ignore the rising fear festering in the pit of his stomach and slowly crawling its way through his body, and with every footstep of Malfoy's as he paced calmly in front of all of them cause the hairs on the back of his neck to prickle and stand at full attention. Finally, after a silence that seemed to linger over them for an eternity, Malfoy parted his lips and made a small slick with his tongue.

"Now…you're probably wondering why you're all here. And lucky for you, I'm about to tell you, although once you know, I'm not so sure you'll be too pleased. However, I am looking forward to this quite a bit, quite a bit indeed…

"You're all here—there are 20 of you, in case you were curious—because I decided that each of you possesses a precarious strength. Perhaps none of you realized it, but when each of you began dismantling my brotherhood of Death Eaters it became painfully clear that you were too smart, too clever, and too strong for your own good. For two years I watched my plans become foiled, ruined, absolved, and I was at a complete loss as to what to do to end your reign. When suddenly, I had a brilliant idea…which is why I decided to pick the best of you and use you to my advantage. There's an old muggle saying—'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.' Well, I've decided to…modify it to my liking. Since I couldn't possibly find a way to beat you, I simply decided to recruit you. Yesterday was a test…those who died were obviously not strong enough to take on such a duty as this. And now, as you all have probably noticed, you all bear the unmistakable mark of a Death Eater. Though you've spent your lives looking upon this mark with disgust and abhorrence, you will come to regard it with respect and admiration—"

"And what makes you think that's ever going to happen?" came a sudden interjection from somewhere on Ron's right. In one split second, the other nineteen heads snapped so sharply you could nearly hear the joints popping in every one of their necks. Ron's neck strained forward to look past the others and felt his breath catch painfully like a hook in his chest when he saw that everyone was staring at Fred, who was glaring intently at Malfoy with a look of utmost distaste on his face. Ron's face grew hot as his fear intensified—if Malfoy so much as touched his brother, all hell would break loose…

Malfoy's already smug grin became, though believed to be impossible, even smugger.

"Because, if you haven't noticed by now, at the moment you are completely helpless, which means I have complete power over you and I can do whatever I please."

Though Ron found his words thoroughly disdainful, he couldn't help but be engrossingly relieved that Malfoy hadn't ended Fred right then and there. He slowly accepted, however, that their current fate probably wasn't much better. Malfoy slowly began pacing back and forth in front of them once again, and Ron began to wonder how much longer of this bull they were going to have to bear through when suddenly, Malfoy stopped sharply and stomped his feet together.

"Enough of this," he said, with a surprising air of harsh severity none of them had expected. All this time he had been so cloyingly pompous, and suddenly he had shed that skin like a snake and become a venomous cobra. And suddenly, coming from a part of the room no one had known even existed, a single-file train of black cloaks entered the room and stood at Malfoy's side, a wicked grin playing on his lips. Ron shuddered at the presence of such evil, and the sinking feeling in his stomach grew more and more unbearable as he realized things were about to take a devastating turn for the worst.


End file.
